


Shelter

by Jubalii



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Mid-Canon, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: While resting at the Waking Sands, Moenbryda takes the time to rekindle her relationship with an old friend... in every sense of the word.[rated for explicit adult scenes in second chapter]
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Moenbryda Wilfsunnwyn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended Listening: https://youtu.be/Y57OaRXDcbQ

* * *

###  _Hoping life will rearrange,  
but I'm still here, I need someone near..._

###  **_-Shelter, Katie Gray_ **

* * *

Evenings in Vesper Bay were one of the few times the portside community ever felt a true sense of calm. When dusky twilight cloaked the bustling piers, even the most harried sailors and impatient vendors ceased their bickering to embrace night’s serene veil. The moon, hanging just above the horizon, cast her rays onto glittering, white-capped ocean waves. All was peace, if only for a few short bells.

Tonight was no different. Shopkeepers, yawning after a full day’s work, secured their wares before heading out in search of a good meal. A few workers—mostly seamen and shipwrights—milled about in the square, calling out to their friends on the upper balconies. A large group made almost entirely of off-duty Immortal Flames were gathered around a pair of scantily clad dancers, their lively encouragement echoing off the surrounding cliffs. No one spared a passing glance to the lone Roegadyn traveler passing in the shadow of Lord Lolorito’s statue.

Moenbryda stretched, rubbing the ache from her neck with one dusty fist. While no stranger to the road, it had been some time since she’d traveled this much. Her work for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn was a welcome change from the usual subdued humdrum of Sharlayan days; it allowed her a much-appreciated chance to test her theories in a land positively _bursting_ at the seams with aether. The one caveat to this, however, was traveling—and lots of it. In the past few weeks alone, the majority of her waking hours had been spent on the well-trodden roads between Coerthas, Mor Dhona, and Thanalan.

Thankfully, working with the Scions also meant having access to the Waking Sands whenever she needed a break from the road. Y’shtola had been the one to offer an invitation on the others’ behalf, pointing out that although their old headquarters ran off a skeleton crew, a hot meal and refreshing bath would always be awaiting her there.

 _And,_ she’d added with a smirk, _should there be no beds readily available, I’m certain you can convince Urianger to share his. It would be unlike him to leave a lady without a comfortable place to rest her head._

An involuntary smile crossed her lips at the memory. She knew Urianger too well to believe it would ever happen. Not that he wouldn’t offer his bed to a friend in need— he’d give her leave of the entire bedchamber without a moment’s hesitation. The concept of _sharing_ a bed, however, would never occur to him. His fellow Scions would find him holed up in a corner or curled on a chair, sound asleep with his cheek pillowed on whatever tome he happened to be reading.

Of course, that sort of situation in itself was highly unlikely. There was no doubt in her mind that the Waking Sands had more than enough beds to go around; Y’shtola was simply teasing. Still, she couldn’t deny that the thought of being in Urianger’s bed was appealing, even if he were absent from it….

 _Isn’t that a little pathetic, Moen?_ she goaded herself with a sigh. _Is this a testament to how far you’ve fallen? Are you truly willing to make do with nothing more than the man’s sheets and his scent?_

As she climbed the broad stone steps to the door of the Waking Sands, she shook the errant thoughts from her mind. It was bad enough that they plagued her incessantly in Sharlayan, where something as simple as a letter was enough to send her heart into overdrive. She’d feared his last message would bring on an apoplectic fit, her pulse stuttering and mouth dry as she poured over the contents.

_None save thee can satisfy this need…._

Urianger had never meant for his words to sound suggestive. She’d known this, and yet that hadn’t stopped her from reading them over and over again in the solitude of her chambers until she could rattle them off by heart. Years of separation hadn’t been long enough to forget the sound of his voice, nor how it held sway over her better senses. That very night she’d imagined him whispering to her in the darkness, his lips warm against her bare skin. _None save thee… I need… would’st thou?_

_If only._

The cool air of the Waking Sands felt sublime after days of scorching desert heat. All at once she was aware of the grit and sweat sticking to her skin, her stomach twisting sharply as it demanded sustenance. She put her musings aside in favor of more immediate concerns, hurrying down the stairs and into the main corridor as she searched for anyone who might be able to point her in the direction of the nearest washbasin. 

A fellow Roegadyn, lounging idly against one of the far walls, started at the sight of her in the corridor. She jumped to attention, reaching for her axe as keen eyes moved from boots to blade in a fell swoop. At the sight of the Archon marks, she visibly relaxed. Moenbryda raised a hand in greeting, keeping her tone light despite her obvious discomfort.

“Tell me,” she asked jovially, voice echoing in the otherwise silent corridor, “where might I find a bath and a bunk?” Her stomach growled loudly enough to drown out the last few syllables. “Oh, and perhaps a bite!”

“For you, I can provide all three.” The woman matched her spirits, her fist meeting her palm as she stepped away from the wall. “The name’s Slafswys, by the way. And I assume you must be…?”

“Moenbryda.” She held out her hand politely. “It’s a pleasure.”

“So _you’re_ Moenbryda Wilfsunnwyn?” Slafswys’s eyes lit up in recognition as they shook hands. “Archon Urianger speaks very highly of you.” Her heart skipped a beat, quivering just behind her breastbone.

“Does he, now?”

“He told us all about you when he last returned from the Rising Stones. You’re a leading figure in aetheric research, talented with both books and blade, and an unmatched expert in your field… according to him, anyway.”

“I won’t bother arguing with that,” she replied, feeling more than a little flattered. “But for the record, it sounds as though he’s giving me far too much credit.”

“Somehow I have a hard time believing that.” Slafswys grinned, tipping her head to the side. “If you don’t mind waiting here, I’ll go and fetch him for you—”

“Wait!” Moenbryda flung out an arm, stopping her before she’d taken two steps. “That’s not necessary. Urianger and I are old friends,” she quickly explained. “Once I have the chance to freshen up, I’ll find _him_.”

“You and—oh! I see!” Slafswys laughed heartily. “Forgive me, I was unaware that the Archon’s tastes were so… intriguing.” Moenbryda shrugged, not bothering to correct her. “In _that_ case, allow me to find you a spare room—not that you’ll be needing it for long,” she winked. “I’m sure we can scrounge up a tub and arrange for some supper.” Her smile turned positively devilish.

“After all, we can’t have you growing faint from hunger. I’d _hate_ for you to miss out.”

* * *

The wonders of a hot bath and hearty meal never ceased to amaze her. 

Moenbryda carefully combed out her hair as it dried, keeping close to the small fire crackling in the grate. She’d heard about cold desert nights, and had experienced more than a few herself, but the chill that permeated the room seemed to seep into her very bones. Perhaps it was the general air of disuse, with hastily dusted furniture and heavy supply crates stacked in a corner opposite the airing bed.

Even with these meager accommodations, she couldn’t find it in herself to complain. Her hair hadn’t felt this soft in weeks, the comb gliding through the strands like silk. Fatigue had clung to her like dust from the road; she’d washed both away in the copper tub, leaving her feeling wholly rejuvenated. She even had clean clothing for the night, lent by the ever-helpful Slafswys. Her armor had been taken away to be cleaned and repaired by the onsite mender. In its place she’d been given a linen tunic, starched and crisp against her freshly scrubbed skin.

Ravenous as she’d been, she wouldn’t have turned her nose at an Archon loaf sandwich smothered in enough sauce to mask its… questionably nautical flavor. Thankfully her supper had been local fare, and far more forgiving on the palate—a spicy broth with chunks of what might have been tortoise meat, along with bread and cheese in ample supply. She’d eaten her fill and then some, nearly moaning aloud with relish.

Full stomach, clean clothes, a warm hearth—the three together nearly had her leaning sideways on her stool. _Still,_ she thought, wincing when the comb caught a snag, _there’s no time to rest._ Technically speaking, it was her duty to report her findings to the nearest Scion. Minfilia needed to be kept up to date with her progress concerning the white auracite.

 _Progress_ being the key word. She hadn’t made any strides in her research for nearly a week, and what little she had to report could easily wait until tomorrow. That didn’t mean she was ready to crawl into bed, though. The night was still young, and Urianger’s chambers were hidden somewhere in this labyrinth of corridors. She wasn’t about to rest until she’d found them… found him.

Moenbryda found herself in the mood to tease; what better target than her oldest, dearest friend? She’d known Urianger long enough that teasing him was as easy and effortless as waking up each morning; she knew what buttons to push—and the right order to push them in—to leave him redder than an overripe tomato. True, it annoyed him to no end… but wasn’t that half the fun? And besides, it wasn’t _her_ fault his flustered reactions were so damn adorable.

She thought back to his prudish horror in the solar of the Rising Stones. _Thine artless attempts to misrepresent mine all-too-innocent motives…._ Even with his eyes hidden behind those polarized goggles, it had been obvious he’d done all in his power to keep from meeting anyone’s scrutiny, her own included.

Behind her, Thancred’s amusement had been rolling off him in waves. He had surely cornered her poor Elezen afterwards in the hopes of wringing some further damning evidence from him. That would explain Urianger’s hasty retreat back to the Waking Sands, before she’d had time to pull him aside for a more private reunion. 

Moenbryda smiled to herself, biting her lip to stop a chuckle from escaping. What had he expected? Malms had separated them for ages now, _of course_ she was going to flirt with him the moment he was within her grasp! It was so hard to tease him properly when they were oceans apart. He had the nasty habit of slipping through her fingers when she wasn’t there to chase him down.

Other scholars flirted and cooed over the linkshell lines with those they cared for— at least when the shoddy transmissions weren’t disrupted by whatever magical disaster loomed over the vicinity. Unfortunately, Urianger wasn’t the type to waste hours idling on a call, playfully arguing over who should hang up first. He’d instead accused her of tying up the lines, insisting that she’d be better off penning a letter before saving them both the trouble of an argument by hanging up on her. 

That sort of blunt, borderline callous behavior might have discouraged or offended her… had it been anyone else. But Urianger had always been this way, even when they were younglings roaming the Sharlayan streets between mealtimes. No matter how old he was, or how tall he grew, at his core he was still the little boy she’d befriended so long ago: quiet, mature beyond his years, his reserved nature masked as petulance.

Then again, couldn’t the same be said of her? At heart she was still that little girl who’d found him sitting all alone, an open tome on his lap. Who’d seen his initial rebuff as a personal challenge, determined that she would become his first— perhaps his only –friend. Who’d been bewitched at the first by his poignant gaze, so beautifully framed by long, dark lashes.

He was lucky that she’d had the self-restraint to keep their public reunion subdued; her first instinct on seeing him had been to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him breathless. Moenbryda cackled aloud at the thought, envisioning how the other Scions would have reacted to such a display.

Thancred would’ve never let him live _that_ down, especially if there were any signs of her feelings being the least bit requited. Despite being one of Urianger’s few male friends, and arguably one of his closest, it was clear that he still nursed a sore spot over being denied a passing glance in favor of “that boring old bookworm”. 

Not that she held it against him. She had never been able to make him—or any of them—understand just what it was she saw in him. Urianger was… well… whether or not he saw fit to acknowledge it, he held her heart in his long, elegant fingers. Always had, always would.

And, though she had no way of knowing for sure, she was fairly certain she claimed a part of his heart as well. Complain as he might about her “youthful” manner, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the vivacity it brought to their friendship. His shy smiles said more than any eloquent speech could hope to.

Her hair was dry now, soft and fluffy beneath her fingers. Shaking it over her shoulder, she reluctantly left the welcoming warmth of the grate. Hopefully Urianger’s room would be more pleasant than her own? If not, there was always the tried and true excuse of needing to cuddle for warmth… although he’d probably lecture her on the futility of trying it.

Tentatively she opened the door to her chambers, leaning out to take a look around. No one lingered on either side of the long corridor, though muffled sounds coming from behind other doors proved the rooms weren’t abandoned. She stepped into the passage, closing her own door quietly behind her. The cold tile chilled her bare feet, and she shivered as she began to make her way towards the lower rooms.

A new question rose to the front of her mind: how was she to find him without opening every door? Thankfully, there were far fewer rooms to check on second glance. Many of the doors were open and dark, standing at the ready for any traveling Scions in need of a place to lay their heads. Others were closed, though no light shown from within. Their occupants were either asleep, or on the road themselves. 

As she made her way along the passage, she began to pick up more signs of life. Two men spoke quietly behind one closed door; behind another, a feminine voice sang softly. The sounds of a blade being sharpened came from a third, a loud snoring from a fourth. None of them held any promise for her.

At the end of the corridor, one door had been left ajar. The soft glow of lamplight spilled from the room, a sign that its occupant was still awake. Licking her lips, she took her chances and carefully inched it open further, praying that it made no noise. Her stature made stealth hard; there were few places someone as large as a Roegadyn could easily hide. During their party at the Stones, a tipsy Thancred had offered to teach her and Yda a few techniques he’d learned from his years on the streets. She’d laughingly refused, believing it to be a flirtatious ruse to get them alone. _Perhaps I should’ve taken him up on that…._

She sent a mental prayer of thanks to the Twelve when the door opened on soundless hinges, allowing just enough of a gap for her to see a spacious room nearly twice the size of her own. A large bed stood sentinel in the center of one wall, the tables on either side of the headboard piled high with all manner of books. In one corner, a mirror stood next to a washstand; in the other, a wide stool had been turned into a makeshift alchemist’s table. A chifforobe stood at the opposite end of the room, one door opened to show stacks of fastidiously folded towels and linens.

Even without the man himself seated at a table against the far wall, she would have recognized this room as Urianger’s. She needed only to see the papers littering every available surface, as well as scattered in sad little heaps across the floor. His room at the Studium had been similarly outfitted, with clothes neatly folded and research notes stuffed into every corner like the fluff of a nutkin’s nest.

Urianger’s back was to the door, shoulders hunched as he poured over something on the table before him. He seemed to be lost in his work, oblivious to the world around him. Why shouldn’t he be, in the sanctity and privacy of his personal chambers? Of course, that only worked in her favor. _Perfect._

She grinned widely, easing the door open enough to slide through before nudging it back into place. Her bare feet made no sound as she crept across the floor, hands raised in preparation. In her mind she was already savoring the sound of his startled yelp as she seized him from behind. A classic sneak attack— it really _had_ been too long.

“Thy fruitless efforts at stealth avail thee not… Moenbryda.” He turned a page in his book, smoothing it flat before twisting in his chair to look at her; the flash of his goggles did little to hide his stern expression. Her arms fell limply to her sides, visibly deflating in the face of his clear reproach.

“Aww, you’re no fun at all.” He shook his head at her theatrics before turning back to his notes, paying no mind to her exaggerated groans. Not one to be ignored, she leaned down to rest her chin on the top of his head, arms sliding around his shoulders. “Dusty old coot,” she said fondly, squeezing him as gently as possible from her current angle. “How’d you know it was me?” He tensed beneath her, fingers twitching against the pages.

“Thy boisterous laughter rang throughout the building not two bells hence.” He paused. “When the door was opened, a draft stirred the flames in the hearth. Seeing as others would deem necessary to knock before entering my chambers uninvited, I knew it to be none other, save thee.”

 _None save thee can—_ A nervous laugh rippled through her at the words, heart pounding at her ribcage. She hoped he didn’t notice it; knowing him, he’d mistake her nerves for an actual ailment and insist on accompanying her to the sick ward. The last thing she needed was to be judged by a well-meaning chirurgeon.

“What are you reading?” she asked, welcoming any distraction from the sensual fantasies hellbent on troubling her. From her vantage point atop his skull she could see that the table was covered from end to end with loose parchment, hastily-bound notebooks, and an errant missive or two. Urianger’s own neatly penned notes stuck out at angles from the chaos, their edges permanently creased from being long buried beneath the mess.

On one corner of the table, the remnants of his dinner wobbled precariously atop a stack of papers. On the other, a lamp was in very real danger of falling to the floor and setting the room—or at least his notes—alight. She reached across the table and moved it back to safety, upsetting a small mountain of unopened envelopes in the process.

“In light of recent happenings, I thought it best to take upon mineself the duty of memorizing all current knowledge of our Ascian foes. These volumes contain our compeer’s handwritten reports, as well as information copied from outside sources.” He held up his current notebook, thumbing through it to show her page after page of cramped script. “I’ve no intention of appearing on the front lines; I doubt I could aid the Warrior of Light in that capacity. But ‘tis of the utmost importance that I doth remain well-informed, that I might pass along any information that may be of some use.”

“Let me see.”

“Forgive me, but should’st thou not be abed?” he scolded, mouth pursed. “Although thy hunger for knowledge is indeed commendable, the journey tomorrow is an arduous one. ‘Twould behoove thee to take thy ease before thou undergoest—”

“Oh, come _on_! Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” she laughed, clapping him on the back. “If anything, I’ll sleep on the carriage ride tomorrow.” The table’s other chair was hidden beneath another stack of books; ignoring his protests, she moved them to the floor before dragging it to where he sat. “Besides, when’s the last time you and I read together?”

Before he’d left for Eorzea, it had been a near-daily occurrence. Countless hours she’d spent leaned against his shoulder, studying everything from ancient treatises to modern directives on the use of alchemical agents. It was a habit they’d cultivated long before their years in the Studium, back when they were two curious children devouring every piece of literature they could get their hands on. 

“All those late nights in the library,” she reminisced, resting her elbows on outspread knees with a sigh, “eating our own weight in meatballs, trying to sneak into the restricted section… don’t you miss it?”

“Of course.” His expression softened. “Those are indeed amongst the happiest of my memories. Thy company hath always been preferable to….” He trailed off, a faint color dusting the edges of his cheekbones. “In any case, I suppose I should not endeavor to hinder thy studies. If thou can’st swear to behave—”

“Deal!” Beaming, she scooted her chair across the stone tile until it was flush with his.

“I was not yet finished—” Eager hands pushed back his hood before he could say another word.

“Urianger!” She cried out in delight, eyes sparkling with joy. “You’ve grown your hair out!” Her heart leapt at the sight, dusky grey in the glow of the lamp. The long strands nearly fell past his shoulders, neatly-parted bangs framing both sides of his high forehead. “You sly dog, when were you going to tell me?!” She couldn’t resist the urge to touch, boldly leaning in to rub her cheek against the familiar texture with a satisfied hum.

“Did’st thou not heed mine instruction?!” His voice pitched high enough to crack. 

“Hm? Am I misbehaving?” she countered, snuggling closer. He was so _warm_ , his hair smooth against her cheek, upper arm brushing against her ribs through the thin fabric of her borrowed tunic. “I believe you might be misinterpreting _mine all-too-innocent motives_.” He sputtered, seemingly frozen between moving closer and pushing her away. “Hmm? Please don’t tell me that’s all it takes to render the great Urianger speechless.”

“I-I-I thought we were to read,” he managed.

“Aye… maybe you could read it aloud?” she asked sweetly. “My eyes are tired.”

“If that be the case, then seek the comfort of thy bedchamber.”

“ _Urianger_ —” Quite suddenly, it occurred to her that he might be serious. He technically hadn’t spurned her advances, but neither had he done anything to encourage them. His entire body seemed tense beneath her cheek, a living statue that did little to assuage her doubts. Had the passage of time changed more between them than she’d realized? 

“Do you really want me to leave? If so, then tell me plainly.” Blunt as it was, she knew no other way of asking. His speech patterns could—and often did—easily confuse others. Just because she’d known him for longer than most didn’t mean she was immune to making the odd mistake in translation. “I won’t be offended, but I need to know.” If her presence made him uncomfortable, then it was time to take the hint and go. She could just as easily lick her wounds in the comfort of her borrowed bedchamber. 

For a long moment he said nothing, fingers plucking anxiously at the edges of his notes. She kept her cheek pillowed on the soft cushion of his hair, listening carefully to the rhythm of his breathing. It was only when she pulled away, taking silence as its own answer, that he began to speak. 

“There is… no need to leave. Rest assured that my concern is for thine own comfort.” He let out a slow breath, freed from whatever thoughts had him in their thrall. “The road to Mor Dhona is fraught with danger. Thy safe return is far more important than any indulgence in mine own wishes.”

_Oh._

Her heart swelled to bursting, the force of her smile clenching her jaw so hard that it ached. _Oh, you fool. You sweet, sweet fool._ For him to speak of _indulgence_ and _wishes_ as though he’d never allowed himself the chance to look, much less consider his own desires! It took all she had not to leap from her seat and tackle him to the ground right then and there.

_Handsome, sweet, **selfless** fool. _

“Nay,” he continued, his words tripping over one another in their hurry to escape, “Nay, in all honesty ‘twould please me if—that is, should it please _thee_ —if thou would’st humor—”

“Urianger?” She gently lifted his chin. “Plainly.”

“I…. Stay, if thou likest.”

“Is that what you wish?” His brows arched in clear surprise, lips parting as if to speak. She waited, expectant, but he merely nodded before turning back to the table. “Then… read to me?” she murmured, pressing into him once more. “Please?” There was no possible way for him to hide the shiver that ran down his spine, hair standing on end beneath his long sleeves.

“V-very well.” He took a deep breath, adjusting his position so that her breasts weren’t pushed against his elbow. It opened room for her to move even closer, all but molding her cheek to the shape of his skull. They hadn’t sat this close together since… since when?

 _The Starlight Celebration,_ her mind supplied as he began to read. She remembered sitting beside him in a liqueur-induced haze, the rough fabric of his hood scratching against her jaw as they watched the others exchange gifts. Closing her eyes, she let herself drift back to that night: the glittering lights against the vibrant Sharlayan sky, the young twins laughing as they opened their presents, Master Louisoix’s debate with Master Matoya growing louder and louder as they struggled to be heard over the drunken sounds of carols being sung off-key…. It was hard to believe that over five years had passed since that party.

_Five years isn’t that long, all things considered, but weren’t we young back then?_

Young enough that stealing a kiss was still considered bold, and tipsy enough not to care who saw… at least until she’d caught sight of Krile Baldesion’s mocking grin. She could still recall the heat of her blush against the night air, the cold sweat of her palms when Urianger’s hand found hers, how it felt to lace their fingers on his lap, the way he snuck glances at her between nervous sips of his own drink, the first touch of his lips as they grazed her jaw—

Oh, and even _later_! Those memories she kept closest to her heart, the ones she was afraid to look at, lest she somehow ruin the rose-colored emotions that accompanied each. The thrill of breaking the rules and letting a man into her room after curfew, regardless of the fact that it was meant for underage students and not two mostly grown, fully consenting adults. The way he’d torn his goggles and hood off at the same time, which shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. Their short, yet fierce argument over whether the room should be well lit or almost dark; he’d won, turning down the lamp before kissing her so thoroughly that she couldn’t find it in herself to complain.

Then the act itself, almost laughable in its simplicity. The unyielding wooden headboard against her spine, his hips snugly between her thighs and his back flush with her chest, all his grumbled objections about soiled blankets tapering off into a broken gasp when her curious fingers slipped past the waistband of his leggings. The startling, exciting, terrifying realization that this must be love, for why else would she feel such pleasure when she wasn’t the one being touched?

Whispered semi-truths and blatant lies all the while, the half-arsed excuse that this was nothing more than an experiment for their own benefit, that this wasn’t something they were doing just because they were too young and too stupid to understand the full depth for what they felt for each other, what they _were_ to each other—

Only to learn the next day that he would be leaving them, leaving her; that he had been chosen to follow her master to Eorzea, to continue the fight for a better tomorrow, and she had not. No one would tell her what she’d done wrong, what heinous crime she committed, which sin was so great that the only proper atonement was to be left behind, forgotten, abandoned. Tears drying on her cheeks as she watched from the quay wall, still struggling to see the ship long after it had vanished on the horizon.

Moenbryda opened her eyes, frowning darkly as she forcefully pushed the thought aside The past couldn’t be allowed to claim her, not tonight. This was no time for sad memories, regrets of what was, what could have been. She pulled herself back to the present, letting her senses create a new memory to hold close in the future: the warmth of the hearth, the scent of Urianger’s hair, the rich timbre of his voice, the steady of beat of her own heart.

Appeased for the moment, she allowed her eyes to slowly drift shut once more as she listened. Never before had she taken the time to fully appreciate the way his voice curled around her whenever he spoke, even when it was something as mundane as a field report. Nothing he read was new to her; she’d studied many of the same reports when trying to decide if white auracite could be used to capture an Ascian soul. But Urianger paraphrased the words, translating them into his vernacular so that each sentence became a melody only he could spin.

Turning the page, he began a much lengthier academic passage that had been copied verbatim from some mage’s library. It was a treatise on souls and the afterlife, more theory than substance. His voice fell as he read, reaching a velvet warmth that stirred her lower stomach. It was dangerously close to the pitch that played in her fantasies, the encouraging praise and half-murmured endearments that attended her when loneliness overruled common sense and good judgement. To hear it now, chaste and soothing as he spoke of Allagan transference and soul crystals….

It was doing more for her than it probably should. 

When all was said and done, she would be on the next boat back to Sharlayan while he remained behind in Eorzea. Was it selfish of her to want something more, something new to comfort her on those cold, sleepless nights? _If this is all I am afforded… even if it’s not enough, is it better than nothing?_ She turned her head just enough to bury her face against the silky expanse of his hair with a sleepy mumble. 

He continued to read as she slid down in her chair, forehead slipping to rest at the join of his neck and shoulder. Rather than scold her for moving, he relaxed his own body to better fit the space she made, bearing the brunt of her weight without complaint. His rhythm slowed, each word gentle and soft as if to ease her towards sleep. _He thinks I’ve fallen into a doze,_ she realized belatedly, mind working at half speed. _Sweet man… so warm…._

Just _how_ was he so warm? Surely she was the warmer of the two, with her blood practically singing in her ears. But his skin was like a brand against her forehead, the long column of his neck all but begging to be tasted. _Might as well roll the dice_. Lifting her head, she pressed her lips to a tender patch of skin just behind his ear. At the first hitch of his voice she took her chances, nipping at the skin before soothing it with a kiss.

“Such views, as stated above, align with our current knowledge of Ascia-a— _ah_ —” He clapped a hand over his mouth, fingers curling into a fist atop the page. Emboldened by the sound, she nosed aside his bangs before tracing up the underside of his jaw with slow, lingering kisses. “Wh-what—” His question dissolved into meaningless syllables as her fingers mapped the hair at his nape.

“Ticklish, Urianger?” She drew slow circles on the base of his neck, watching through her lashes as he shivered. “Or sensitive?” He turned away, closing the book with both hands before letting out a shaky breath. When he dared to face her again, a smile wavered at the edges of his panicked expression.

“P-perhaps we best pause our studies for the evening? It seems thou art… art tired and….” Gulping, he fell silent as she leaned forward.

“I’m not tired.”

“Moenbryda?” His furrowed brows pressed a worried crease above his nose. Carefully she pulled up his goggles, finally revealing the beautiful eyes that had captured her heart so many years ago. She slid them from his head, laying them on top of the notebook before running her fingers through his loose hair.

“Uri?” He visibly softened at the old name, forehead smoothing and mouth easing back into its usual puzzled frown. Drawing him close once more, she brushed back his bangs before playfully tapping his nose. “Hey… wanna fool around? For old time’s sake?” His jaw actually unhinged at the question, a fierce blush blooming over his cheeks. “Hmm?”

He knew exactly what she meant. That had been their code during the tumultuous Studium years, when they were too old to ignore their desires and yet too young to understand them, resulting in shy, fumbling kisses behind stacks of books in the library. He’d been even shorter back then, stuck in the midst of his Elezen growth spurt, his voice cracking with nerves. She hadn’t been much better, clumsy as she still tried to navigate a taller body, longer limbs. Treasured memories, heartwarming in their innocence. 

His mind was clearly following the same train of thought, his conflicted gaze falling to her lips with thinly-veiled yearning. He averted them just as quickly, running a trembling hand over his face as he took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was full of a strange resolve.

“We are no longer children, Moen.”

“I know that, you old fool,” she chuckled, all sweetness and affection. Her fingers had a mind of their own, trailing over his cheek to trace his tattoo with her nails before cupping his jaw tenderly. “How I’ve missed you…” Her thumb rubbed the smooth, immaculate line between his skin and facial hair. His hand rose to cover hers, trapping it beneath his palm.

“And I thee.”

“You summoned me here,” An unwelcome note of misery flavored the words, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue as she skirted the line between pleading and pouting. “You said you needed me.”

“That— as I made clear in the solar—”

“Then you don’t need me?” Did he not realize how he leaned towards her, even as he denied his feelings with every word? No matter how hard he fought, some part of him was drawn to her; they were astral and umbral polarities of the same element, different in theory and yet belonging to one another all the same. “You want me to leave?”

“ _Never_.” The word was too forceful, torn from him in a sharp hiss. “But—”

“But?”

“’Twould be remiss of us to neglect our duties, to exchange scholarly pursuits for ones more… earthly.” He choked on the word, avoiding her eyes.

“Duty? Is that all that’s stopping you?” He made no reply, blush darkening the longer she stared. “One night’s difference can hardly—”

“Kingdoms rise and fall in the span of a single evening,” he countered sharply, fingers dancing on his thighs. It was useless to argue when he was like this, trapped within the confines of a self-made dilemma. She was resolved to sit quietly, watching the internal struggle play out in his expression, but it was soon clear that this was a battle that could easily last until dawn.

“If it helps, my room is chilly.” She twirled her hair between her fingers, tugging on the loose strands before letting it fall back to her shoulder. “If I go back there, I might catch cold and die.” He let out an involuntary scoff, rolling his eyes at the sight of her grin.

“Art thou truly cold?”

“Why don’t you touch me and find out?”

“Thy—” He stopped himself with a groan, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Instead of answering, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. Trembling fingertips caressed her cheek, betraying the emotion he kept so well hidden. She leaned blindly into the touch, turning to kiss his fingers before nuzzling against his palm. 

“Temptation incarnate,” he muttered to himself, fingers curling against her lips before dropping to trace one of the marks on her neck. “Plainly, Moen.”

“Hmm?”

“Thou must also… speak plainly.” His voice held a rough edge that left her breathless, once again drawing her mind straight back to the starlit night of their not-so-long-ago youth. “What is thy wish?”

 _What’s yours?_ she almost asked, catching herself at the last possible moment. Debating him was always fun, but she wasn’t keen on chasing this conversation in circles. He would take every out she offered him, wriggling out through loophole after loophole. The only way to make him face his emotions was to corner him against a wall until he confessed. _He really **hasn’t** changed. _

“You want me to speak plainly? Fine.” She grabbed his wrist, locking eyes with a determined expression that he knew far too well. “I wish… no, I _want_ to finish what we started years ago. Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first ffxiv fic so have some mercy, prithee
> 
> Their relationship is one of my favorite ship dynamics and they deserved better than ARR gave them.   
> Urianger is hell to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Social Media:
> 
> You can find me on Twitter and Tumblr @skyboundsheep!  
> 


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